Hiroshima Poems I

Hiroshima Poems I Let Us Be Midwives! by Hiroshima survivor Sadako Kurihara loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Midnight... the basement of a shattered building... atomic bomb survivors sniveling in the darkness... not a single candle between them... the odor of blood... the stench of death... the sickly-sweet smell of decaying humanity... the groans... the moans... Out of all that, suddenly, miraculously, a voice: "The baby's coming!" In the hellish basement, unexpectedly, a young mother has gone into labor. In the dark, lacking a single match, what to do? Scrambling to her side, forgetting themselves... War Close Up by Hiroshima survivor Kurihara Sadako loose translation by Michael R. Burch Stirring bugles! Rousing martial music! The announcer reporting "victory" like some messenger from on high, fanning, fanning the fervored flames of battle! Masterful state magicians materializing in a wizardly procession, spreading cleverly poisoned words to bewilder reason! Artistic expression abracadabra-ed into state-sponsored magic! The sound of boots, guns, bombs, cannons as our army advances, advances, advances toward the enemy! The thunder of our invincible tanks advancing! Alleluia! The sudden, sweet gurgles of drowning enemy ships! The radio broadcasts the sounds of battle: A war hymn resounding to the skies, sung by courageous men and women who worship this cruel idol, War. Oh, so powerful the merest whiff addles even the most independent spirit? the opium of patriotism! the religion of race! While on scenic islands scattered like stepping stones across the globe, and on farflung continents, driven by boundless avarice, the landlords rage and rave again, instilling hatred in indigenous populations then prodding, driving them into battle. Full of high-sounding pretexts inevitably adapted to expediency they raise indisputable banners? God is on our side! Righteous war! Holy war! "Right" becomes the password of thieves. They square their shoulders: "To secure world peace annihilate the evil opponent!" They bark commands: "For ten years, a hundred years, fight to the last man, the last woman!" The master magicians' martial music resounds magisterially; fanatic bull-mad patriots roar and run amok; completely bewitched, the people carol in unison: "O, let me die by the side of my sweet Sovereign!" Epitaph for a Child by Martial translation by Michael R. Burch Lie lightly on her, grass and dew... So little weight she placed on you.